


An Ever-Fixed Mark

by Jinxed_Ink



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate universe - Irish folklore, Canon-Typical Violence, Fae & Fairies, Fae Laurent, M/M, Selkie Damen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-11 22:01:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9036074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jinxed_Ink/pseuds/Jinxed_Ink
Summary: Laurent was crowned on the next full moon. He knelt in the damp grass, as Herode held the Erlking’s crown over his head, and the whole forest held its breath.Laurent dipped his head, and Herode placed it on his brow. The woven circlet of brambles gleamed black in the waning moonlight, the berries red and shining and smooth, full to bursting. It settled into place slowly, nestled into his hair, the thorns not quite piercing his skin. Afterwards, the revelries began, sumptuous and wild enough that those who had attended would be telling the tale for generations. Laurent smiled and charmed and flattered. He danced with a dark-haired maiden with skin like bark and a dress made of small, translucent bones. He took a wild, reckless ride on  the back of a golden-eyed pooka, and they galloped over streams and across valleys and in thin, winding paths that sneaked among the trees. With a man who had eyes like an owl and teeth like a wolf, Laurent shared fizzy wine that tasted like laughter and looked like sunlight.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NitroJen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NitroJen/gifts).



> For Jenna, who wanted to see Laurent as a fairy. Merry Christmas and thank you for the wonderful prompt!

Laurent woke to a pounding head, a parched throat and skin that felt too tight for his body. He also woke to whispering and quiet laughter. He lifted his head to glare at their source: a mistake, as the persistent throbbing in his left shoulder intensified with the movement, going from painful to unbearable, and he was forced to collapse back against the pillow with a bitten-off groan, bile rising in his throat.

At least, Jord and Aimeric had stopped flirting.  
He turned his head, very carefully. They were both standing, and rather close to his bed, so that all he could see of them from his position was a portion of their legs  “Are you two supposed to be standing guard? If so, you’re doing a sterling job.” 

Jord had the decency to cough, at least. 

Aimeric sniffed. “You have an entire regiment stationed at your door. We’re just here to make sure you don’t suffocate in your sleep, your highness.” 

“And two men are needed for the task? Goodness, how our standards have fallen.” Laurent gestured for both of them to sit. He did so with his burned hand, as he could barely move the other arm, and the movement sent a fresh wave of pain rolling through him. At least now he could see their faces. “My uncle?”

“The selkies are still dragging the bay for his corpse,” Jord said.

A seed of unease took root in Laurent’s stomach. “You were both there” he said, “Are you sure he didn’t cast some sort of spell?”

Aimeric shook his head. “It was a battle. There was so much noise…” he trailed off, raising a hand to touch his throat. He had grown pale. “He must be dead, though, mustn’t he?” 

“It was a long drop, to the bottom of the cliffs,” Laurent said carefully, “Even if he didn’t smash against the rocks, he must’ve drowned.” 

Aimeric made an aborted sound, low in his throat. ”What I don’t understand is _why_.”

“He was cornered,” Jord said, laying an hand on Aimeric’s shoulder. “He knew he wouldn’t walk away alive. He must’ve thought it an easier death.”

Jumping off a cliff was not exactly what most would consider an easy death. “Make sure the selkies check also any caves at the bottom of the cliffs.” Laurent said, “It would be best not to take any chances.” Then, turning to Aimeric: “Have you given any thought regarding what you will do now?”

“I can’t say that I have,” a small, self-deprecating smile, “I’m not exactly popular among my brothers, these days.”  
“You could take your father’s place in the council.”

“It is truly a generous offer, your highness. I’m flattered.” Aimeric inclined his head in an approximation of a bow. “May I ask why?”

Interesting. “You’re proven loyal, even against the demands of your family. You’re brave. I think you will be an invaluable asset in my court.” And appointing Aimeric would make him appear generous and forgiving. The next few days would have to be marked by several executions, after all, and Laurent badly needed something to boost his popularity among the courtiers. 

“An ‘invaluable asset’?”Aimeric said quietly, a wry twist to his mouth. “Or did you mean ‘a useful tool’, your highness?” I have grown quite tired of being that. So I hope you will forgive me if I decline.” Having said his piece, he stood and bowed, a trifle stiffly. “If you will excuse me.”

Staring at his retreating back, Laurent found himself smiling. “He’s much cleverer than I gave him credit for. A shame he is so easily baited. ” 

Jord grinned. “I like his temper. Gives him a bit of a spice.” A beat. “He has asked for you. Often, and loudly.”

“Aimeric?” Laurent asked, the picture of innocence.

“You know who I meant.”

Laurent raised an eyebrow in silent challenge. Jord was wise enough to let the matter drop.  


***

Laurent must have fallen asleep, eventually, for he closed his eyes, and when he next opened them, pale moonlight poured through the windows, and, at his bedside, crumpled in a chair much too small for his frame, Damen slept.

Laurent hadn’t seen him in weeks, save for a brief, startled glance just before the battle. He hadn’t spoken to him since returning his sealskin. That night, Damen had been wide-eyed and confused, his hands curled tight around the mottled gray pelt. _“You said you didn’t have it,” he’d said._

_Laurent had shrugged, carefully casual. “Paschal did.” And then, helplessly: “Are you angry with me?”_

_Damen had shaken his head, his smile bitter around the edges. “For your deception? I might as well blame the wind for blowing.”_

It still stung. Irrationally, because Laurent knew he had done little to make himself trustworthy. 

The next morning, Damen had been gone. He’d run back to the sea, and to the struggle with his treasonous brother, leaving whatever fragile trust they’d built between them scattered in the wind like ashes. A month later, he’d sent a band of warriors to fight Laurent’s battles, and a letter, and an offer for allegiance. Laurent had accepted, if only because the alternative was succumbing to his uncle and to a shallow grave beneath the blackthorns. 

As though sensing he was being observed, Damen stirred, and blinked awake. He smiled, when he laid eyes on Laurent. “You’re awake.” His human voice was a low, gravelly thing, like the scrape of rock against rock, like the breaking of waves upon the shore.

It sent shivers down Laurent’s spine. “Your powers of observation are, as ever, astounding,” he said drily.

Damen laughed, stretching and straightening in his chair. He did not make any move to lean closer, something for which Laurent was pathetically grateful. “I have missed your barbed tongue.”

Laurent arched an eyebrow, though he didn’t know if Damen could see it in the darkness. “Is this why you’re here? My charming disposition?”

“I came to offer my aid in battle. And that of my warriors.”

“Hasn’t anybody told you? The battle is over.” And then, louder, cutting off Damen’s attempt at a reply: “You should know that I’ll find out who let you in, and I’ll have them dismissed with disgrace.”

Damen’s expression twisted, but it was too dark for Laurent to make it out exactly. “Please, don’t. I didn’t leave them much of a choice.” He cleared his throat, the sound rough. “I’m sorry I left.”

“I wasn’t surprised,” Laurent said. “I didn’t expect anything else.” A selkie could be bound a to the shore by stealing his skin, but he would always heed the call of the sea, once he his freedom was returned. 

“I know.” In the darkness, Damen reached for him. He ran the back of his fingers, gently, over the side of Laurent’s face. “But it still hurt you, didn’t it?”

“Is that what you would like to hear?”

“I would like to hear the truth.” Damen’s hand was relentless, stroking over his brow, his cheeks, his lips. Laurent was not strong enough to push it away.

He laughed, a sharp noise, both brittle and bitter. “You know I cannot lie.” 

There was silence between, them, then. Damen stopped caressing Laurent’s face, moving his touch along his uninjured arm, to graze the edge of the bandages on his burnt palm. “What happened here?”

“Govart did.” Laurent closed his eyes, shuddering. “He stabbed me with an iron knife.”

“I know. I heard. I meant, what happened to your hand?”

“When Govart stabbed me, he left the knife in my shoulder,” Laurent said, slowly. The words weighed like lead on his tongue. He could still see the scene clearly, behind his closed eyelids. Govart had sneered, exposing a row of gnarled, blackened teeth and pressed Laurent to the wall with an muscular arm against his throat. He’d been terrified, for one wild heartbeat, before the knife had plunged in, and his throughs had settled with frozen, awful clarity. “It was cutting off the flow of my magic, so I pulled it out. I held it in my hand only for a moment, but it was enough for the iron to burn me.” 

“Did you kill him?”

Laurent twisted his head to meet Damen’s gaze, steadily. “I left him choking on his own blood.”

“Good. It’s what he deserved.” Damen pushed his fingers through Lauren’t hair, gently smoothing it back from his forehead, in a delicate, soothing motion, as though he were a child in need of comfort. Laurent closed his eyes, his thoughts pleasantly drifting. 

“We found your uncle.”

So much for falling back into peaceful slumber. Laurent tensed, his eyes snapping open. He braced himself on the covers to sit up, even though it strained his injured shoulder. “Dead?”

“He is now.” Damen’s eyes glinted in the moonlight, as he lowered his gaze. “He survived the fall, but I killed him. I meant to keep him alive. I thought maybe you’d want to kill him yourself. But when we found him, he started saying all sorts of awful things about you, and-“ He visibly relaxed, a conscious effort. “I went out of my mind a little, I think.”

“What things?” Laurent asked. His voice sounded raw, and he felt cold all over. He felt like someone had peeled back his skin and left him exposed to the wind. 

“I think you can guess.” Damen’s voice sounded raw, as well. Laurent couldn’t quite tell if he found it comforting, or absolutely terrifying. “Laurent, you must know it doesn’t affect my regard for you.” 

“Must I?”

Damen made a sound, low in his throat, like a wounded animal. “I wish he had died more painfully.” He reached out a hand, but stopped just shy of actually touching Laurent. “He was entirely to blame, and if I could, I would resurrect him just to kill him again. And again. And again.”

It was surprisingly hard to hear. But wonderful, too. As bright and as painful as cleaning poison from a wound. Laurent reached out, let the tip of his fingers touch Damen’s. “Thank you,” he said, quietly. He wasn’t sure if Damen heard him, but he felt his hand twitch against his. 

“Laurent, I-“, a harsh breath, “You should know that I am entirely, helplessly yours. And that whatever you may need from me, I will do my best to grant it. Always.”

Laurent’s lips twitched into half a smile. “That is a dangerous promise to make, especially to a fae.”

Damen’s fingers tightened over his. “Perhaps, but I trust you.” 

***

Laurent was crowned on the next full moon. He knelt in the damp grass, as Herode held the Erlking’s crown over his head, and the whole forest held its breath. 

Laurent dipped his head, and Herode placed it on his brow. The woven circlet of brambles gleamed black in the waning moonlight, the berries red and shining and smooth, full to bursting. It settled into place slowly, nestled into his hair, the thorns not quite piercing his skin. 

Afterwards, the revelries began, sumptuous and wild enough that those who had attended would be telling the tale for generations. Laurent smiled and charmed and flattered. He danced with a dark-haired maiden with skin like bark and a dress made of small, translucent bones. He took a wild, reckless ride on the back of a golden-eyed pooka, and they galloped over streams and across valleys and in thin, winding paths that sneaked among the trees. With a man who had eyes like an owl and teeth like a wolf, Laurent shared fizzy wine that tasted like laughter and looked like sunlight. 

And all the while, he was aware of Damen’s absence like an open wound. 

The festivities lasted till dawn, and when he stumbled back into his rooms, Laurent took off his crown, unlaced his jacket and put pen to paper. 

_Damianos,  
How would you feel about a marriage to cement our alliance?_

Laurent red the words over, and very carefully, crossed each one of them out except for _Damianos_ and _marriage_. Then, after some consideration, he crossed _Damianos_ out as well. 

It wouldn’t do to start a marriage proposal so formally, after all.  


***

Laurent left his entourage at the top of the cliffs and made his way, alone and barefooted, down to a steep, twisting path among the rocks, to a small, secluded beach of fine black sand. 

That morning, he’d risen with the first rays of the pallid winter sun and dressed with some apprehension, carefully brushing and braiding his hair and donning a simple tunic that left his legs bare, and that made him feel, somehow, more exposed than he would have felt naked. 

He shivered in the wind, wrapping his arms around himself and moving closer to where the water hit the shore, careful to stay clear of the waves. A few stray droplets hit his legs, cold as ice. He strained to catch sight of Damen in the water, but he didn’t see anything until a swift, dark shape broke the surface of the water a scant few metres from him.

“You’re not nearly as impressive as I thought you’d be,” Laurent said to the seal. “Although I see your size is unreasonable even among your own kind.” The seal tilted his head and looked up at Laurent with heavy-lidded, pleading eyes, in a way that struck him as particularly Damen-like. 

It rolled onto its back, displaying a pale, mottled white belly, and used one of its claws to cut itself open, from throat to navel. 

Laurent recoiled, instinctively, but no blood poured from the wound. Instead, Damen’s human form unfolded from the opening, and he shrugged of the sealskin like a coat. He stepped out of it, leaving it abandoned on the sand, and gave Laurent a dazzling smile. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting.”

Laurent arched an eyebrow. “You did, actually.”

“Allow me to make it up to you, then,” Damen said, moving closer.  

Laurent debated, for a split second, if he ought to play at coyness or archness, but it had been so very long since they had last held each other. He stepped into the circle of Damen’s arms, and kissed him. He tasted, as always, of salt and iron: of sharp, wonderful, deadly things. “I have missed you,” he whispered, and felt Damen’s hands tighten on his waist in response. 

“And I, you.”

Laurent allowed himself the briefest of smiles, pressed against the tender skin of Damen’s throat, and wrapped his arms tighter over Damen’s broad shoulders. There was nothing between them, save for the thin silk of Laurent’s tunic, and that cut off very little sensation. He could feel every callus on Damen’s broad hands as he ran them up and down the length of his back.

He pushed himself on the tip of his toes to rub himself against up Damen’s hardening cock, once, slowly, his breath rough against Damen’s ear, and then he moved away. 

Laurent raised his hands to the laces at his shoulder, the only thing keeping his tunic closed. His fingers were steady. His breath was not. He kept his eyes on Damen’s as he undid the knots, drew the lace through the eyelets, and pushed the fabric apart, gestures so familiar he could’ve done them in the dark.

Silently, he stepped out of the silk that had pooled at his feet. 

“Gods,” Damen said, his voice rough, “but you are magnificent.” He moved closer, gaze darting to the pink, ridged scar on Laurent’s shoulder. He brushed his thumb across the raised skin. “It’s healed well.” 

“Yes.” Laurent swallowed. “Paschal’s arts are impressive.” 

Damen’s lips quirked, and he bent his head to press a kiss to the mark. Laurent gasped.

“Does it hurt?”

He shook his head, carding his fingers in Damen’s hair in a guiding caress, so that their lips could meet. Damen’s breath came in short, sharp pants against his lips, and his hands were trembling, just faintly, as he ran them over his sides. They came to rest on the small of Laurent’s back, fingers just grazing the swell of his buttocks, before their grip tightened and they dug into his flesh. 

Laurent shuddered, pressed himself closer to Damen, and allowed himself to be laid down into the sand. 

There was a vial of oil, somewhere in the folds of Laurent’s abandoned clothing, but he could not quite bring himself to disentangle himself long enough to get it, as Damen thrusted with quiet urgency against his thigh. He braced himself against Damen’s shoulder, pushing him backwards and down. He rolled easily with the motion, and Laurent found himself on top, Damen’s big, strong palms cradling his thighs. He slipped a hand between their bodies, wrapping it around the both of them, and relished in Damen’s broken moans, in the silken weight and heat of him. 

Afterwards, he didn’t quite know what to do with himself. His hand and abdomen were sticky with his and Damen’s spend, and he felt heavy and weightless at the same time. There was a cantrip he could use to clean them both up, but the words hovered just out of reach of his addled mind.  

At his side, Damen struggled to catch his breath. He stretched, half-turned to press a sloppy kiss against the side of Laurent’s head. He stood, his movements still a little uncoordinated. 

“Where are you going?”

Damen sent him a sly smile over his shoulder, silently walking the length of the beach until he reached a shadowed spot among the rocks. He had prepared for their assignation, it turned out when he came back with a bag containing anything they could possibly need, including food, fresh water and towels. 

“You came prepared,” Laurent said, idly tapping his fingers against a slender glass vial containing some kind of oil. Then, with a quirk of the side of his mouth: “I must say I’m surprised.”  

Damen chuckled, reaching over to take the bottle. “Stop that. You’ll give me ideas.”

Laurent stretched, knowing it made muscles and sinews shift, and smiled when he felt Damen’s gaze, heavy with intent, on his back, and then lower. “I though that was the point.”

“Not when I’m still too tired to do something about them.” He ran his fingers over Laurent’s legs. Laurent trembled, pleasantly, and then again, less pleasantly, when the wind rose and bit sharply into his skin. 

“Are you cold?”

Laurent shrugged. He attempted to suppress a shiver, with limited success. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

Damen shook his head, a fond smile playing at the corner of his lips and carefully tucked a strand of Laurent’s hair behind his ear. Laurent had the sudden, uncomfortable realization that Damen found his standoffishness _endearing_ , of all things. 

“You're never going to make things easy for me, are you?”

Laurent cocked his head, unable to suppress his smile. “Of course not. That would lead to complacency, and then, where would you be?”

“Wait here,” Damen said. He pressed a quick kiss against his forehead and stood up. 

“And here I hoped you would offer to warm me up,” Laurent drawled. He startled when a soft, heavy weight settled around his shoulders. His hands automatically came up to clutch the sealskin, and he rose to his knees, looking up at Damen with a mix of awe, and happiness and love that was so overpowering as it pushed against his heart that he was sure it must’ve shown on his face. The last time he’d been given this, it had been in his uncle offering the sealskin, a stolen, poisoned gift. 

“How,” he breathed, “how can you bear to give me this?”  


Damen’s smile was achingly tender, and so bright it outshone the sun. “It’s all right,” he said quietly. “I trust you to give it back.”


End file.
